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The strange house or, A moment's mistake

Catharine Shaw

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Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
Illustration note[Illustration: "Whatever is the matter?"]
THE STRANGE HOUSE; OR, A MOMENT'S MISTAKE. BY CATHARINE SHAW AUTHOR OF "DICKIE'S SECRET," "THE GABLED FARM," "ALICK'S HERO," "NOBODY'S NEIGHBOUR," "SOMEBODY'S DARLING," ETC. New Edition. _LONDON:_ JOHN F. SHAW AND CO. 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. CONTENTS ———— CHAPTER I. NEXT DOOR II. POVERTY KNOCKS AT THE DOOR III. LOVE DOES NOT FLY OUT OF THE WINDOW IV. GONE V. MOLLIE'S WELCOME VI. ALL SIX! VII. CONWAY'S DISCOVERIES VIII. DAISY'S "CHUM" IX. A CHAMPION X. A SONG XI. A SCRIMMAGE XII. MARMALADE XIII. THE OVERTURNED BASKET XIV. "X. Y. Z." XV. LITTLE LESTER XVI. A LATE VISITOR XVII. BEFORE DAWN XVIII. SUNRISE XIX. ROSE GUESSES SOMETHING XX. UP THE CHIMNEY XXI. BY THE NURSERY FIRE XXII. NO THOROUGHFARE XXIII. A HINDRANCE XXIV. AT THE GRAVE XXV. JOHNNIE'S JOKE XXVI. FLIGHT XXVII. A DARK RIDE XXVIII. ALMOST XXIX. AT LAST XXX. WRAPPED IN A CLOAK XXXI. ANOTHER PROMISE XXXII. A VIGIL XXXIII. "FRITZ IS COMING" XXXIV. SET TO WORK XXXV. OUTSIDE THE GREAT NORTHERN XXXVI. BY AND BY XXXVII. A NEW THOUGHT XXXVIII. IN THE MUSEUM XXXIX. HIDING XL. RANDALL'S MISCHIEF XLI. TWO SIDES OF A STORY XLII. CLOUDS XLIII. "WAITING FOR YOU!" XLIV. A SHORT DRIVE XLV. TILL WEDNESDAY XLVI. NURSE'S PLAN XLVII. THE STRANGE HOUSE AGAIN XLVIII. RANDALL'S REQUEST XLIX. WEDNESDAY L. IN THE CABINET LI. AT LANRIFFE LII. RANDALL'S RETURN
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THE STRANGE HOUSE. ———— CHAPTER I. NEXT DOOR. "HARK! What's that, Ned?" "Nothing!" "It isn't nothing! Do hush, Ned; there is something wrong outside!" It was a still night at the end of September, unusually mild for the time of year, and the boys were just in bed, having left their window thrown wide-open, so that every noise in the road came up distinctly. Conway, having just laid his head on his pillow, heard some one say in a clear, abrupt undertone— "I've got you!" followed by a scuffle, in which, now that Ned was quiet, holding his breath too, there were words exchanged of angry expostulation. The boys were out of bed in a trice, and were leaning out of the window breathlessly. "Let go, I say," said the second voice angrily. "Not I! I've got you, now! I've been watching you for this half-hour." "Let go, I say! What do you want with me? I'm in my own garden, I tell you." "A likely story," answered the gruffer voice, which the boys took to be a policeman's. "And if you stir till I can get help, you'll feel my truncheon." "I say," said Conway, "don't you think we ought to go down, Ned?" He was getting into his garments in breathless haste, followed by Ned. And just as they rushed down-stairs, two or three heads were put out at various doors, and their mother asked— "Whatever is the matter?" The boys did not wait to explain much, but called out, "There's something going on in the next garden; tell father to come," and rushed off. "What is it, mother?" asked Mollie, peeping from her room. Mrs. Shaddock shivered, her teeth chattering with nervousness. "I don't know," she answered, "only I heard a noise in the road." "Why have the boys gone down?" asked Mollie. "And oh, here's father going too!" Meanwhile the boys had reached the garden, and had sprung over the hedge which separated them from their neighbour's grass-plot, and were already standing by the policeman, who was grimly holding on to a crouching figure under the front hedge. As the policeman's lantern was turned on the boys' faces, the imprisoned man looked up and exclaimed— "Speak for me, young sirs; you know me, don't you? These young gentlemen live next door to me, and they know I live here!" "I don't believe you," said the policeman; "you're here for no good, that I do know. Get up and come along with me." "I'm not going to," said the man stoutly. "I live here. And if I like to be in my garden at this time of night, I shall please myself." "We'll go and rouse the house and see if you belong there. Who else lives here?" asked the constable suspiciously. "No one else," said the man, springing to his feet, and releasing himself, though he did not attempt to move away. "I live alone, and it's no business of any one's if I do. What sort of a policeman can you be not to know me who has lived here for this past year, and worked in my garden day and night?" "Yes, it 'is' our neighbour," broke in Conway, while Mr. Shaddock, who had now come out, assured the officer of the law that this was the case. "Well, I'm new on this beat," said the man, letting go unwillingly. "But when I see a feller poking along by a hedge, and hiding down beneath it when he hears a footstep, I sez to myself, 'He ain't up to no good.' And no more he isn't, be he neighbour or no neighbour to respectable folks!" He stood aside angrily, while the man, with curt thanks to his releasers, strode up the garden path and let himself into the house with a latch-key. "Rum," remarked the policeman; "for when I first took hold of him, I could swear I saw a light in the bottom room. And how should it go out and all be black and dark now, I should like to know?" He moved off, shaking his head, while Mr. Shaddock and his sons made their way back to their home. On the doorstep stood Mrs. Shaddock and her eldest daughter, Mollie, who had been looking on in great excitement, fearing, or perhaps hoping, that a veritable thief had been caught. The disturbed household gathered in the deserted dining-room, a motley group in their quickly-donned costumes. Ned could not help laughing as he pulled Mollie's long hair, and asked her if she were sure her head was not chopped off? "After that tug, I 'am,'" she answered. "But, father, what did he say? We could not hear." "Yes," said Mrs. Shaddock, "do tell us." "I've nothing to tell," answered her husband. "Our strange neighbour, it seems, was meandering about outside, and a new policeman took him up in mistake for a thief; that's all!" "All!" echoed Mrs. Shaddock. "Suppose you had been taken up when you were smoking a cigar." "Well, he wasn't smoking," said Conway; "he was hiding apparently. Besides, he says there is no one living in the house with him, and yet the 'Bobby' saw a light put out." Mrs. Shaddock turned white. "'I' saw a light put out," she said, "just after your father went out. We were standing on the doorstep when a light was slowly moved a few yards, and then it went out." "That can't be, my dear, if nobody besides lives there," said Mr. Shaddock. "It is very queer though," she said, turning to Mollie, "for we both thought it was strange the person did not come to the door." "What a good thing it is we had been up so late!" said Ned, yawning. "If we had not been at that concert, this would not have happened!" Conway laughed. "Or we should have slept through it," he said. "I feel scared," remarked Mollie. "I wonder if Daisy is awake?" "There is nothing to be scared at," said Ned, "and father is next door to you. Anyway, I love excitements. We will watch the Strange House, Conway, and see what comes of this." "Yes," assented his brother, "if it is worth while. That feller next door has told a lie, anyway!" "Oh, that's nothing," said Ned carelessly. "It's more than that, I think. I shall keep my eyes open." "And I shall shut mine," said Conway, "if they aren't shut already!"
Illustration note[Illustration]
Illustration note[Illustration]
CHAPTER II. POVERTY KNOCKS AT THE DOOR. "HOW does it look, Phyllis?" The child glanced up from her lessons, and stretched out her hand across the table for a fine piece of cambric which her mother was holding out to her. She took it under the lamp, and examined it critically. "I've seen you do it better, mother." "I was afraid so," answered Mrs. Ashlyn slowly. "I can do no more work by candlelight." "Mother!" exclaimed the child, with an accent of dismay. "I have feared it for a long time," she said, passing her hand over her eyes, and leaning back in her chair rather wearily. Phyllis looked in her face consideringly, and then her eyes met a pair of dark ones opposite—those of a young man seated with a pile of books before him, in the study of which he had been buried, till interrupted by the serious nature of the conversation between his two companions. For that it was a serious conversation both knew. Mrs. Ashlyn was a widow with very limited means, and had been accustomed to eke out her income by fine needlework for a large baby-linen warehouse in the neighbouring town. If this source of income should fail, what would become of them? So thought the three seated in that cosy little room. From outside came the subdued roar of the sea, as its ceaseless waves broke on the beach near; while inside the clock ticked on audibly, and the lamp shone on Phyllis's shining hair and on Otto's curly head, both bent over their respective books, though their thoughts were busy elsewhere. Otto, the son of an old friend, had lived with Mrs. Ashlyn for three years, while preparing for his medical examinations, and had become, as Phyllis expressed it, "quite one of the family." But at any rate, he shared all their interests, and, so far as he understood them, sympathized in their cares. What would happen now, if one of the chief sources of income should be permanently dried up? The meditations of the three were broken in upon by a light step coming swiftly up the little garden path, and by the turning of the handle of the front door. "There's Gertrude!" exclaimed Phyllis rather unnecessarily, for both her companions knew that quite well. Mrs. Ashlyn rose, folded her work carefully into a spotless handkerchief, and placed it in a dainty, covered basket which stood at her side. Then she looked up with a smile as the door opened to admit a girl of about twenty-two, who came in with a bright look and manner that seemed like a May breeze. "You look like news!" said Phyllis. "Are they going to keep you on?" "No," answered Gertrude. Mrs. Ashlyn's eyes were fixed on her face inquiringly, with an anxiety in her answer which the others understood, if Gertrude did not. "No," pursued Gertrude, "they are not. They want to make other arrangements. So now there is nothing to be done but to look out for something else!" "That is not so easy," said Mrs. Ashlyn. "Camptown is not so very large, and the schools there are limited in number. But I dare say we shall find something in time." "Of course we shall," said Gertrude heartily. "Why, mother, do you not 'know' that all our ways are in our Father's hands?" Mrs. Ashlyn was leaving the room, and received her daughter's kiss with a sweet, patient smile, the patience of which was not noticed by her child so much as its sweetness. "Mother! I had something to ask you. Now Phyllis is so 'competent' and—well—everything, would you spare me if I heard of a situation near London—at Hampstead?"